


your mind is dirty but your hands are clean

by atimi (bertee)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Strippers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-10
Updated: 2009-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/atimi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stripper!Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your mind is dirty but your hands are clean

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a request meme.

_"She's my cherry pie..."_

Words blurring in front of his eyes, Sam slumped back in the chair, instantly regretting it when a cloud of dust puffed out from the seat-back. Fighting the urge to sneeze, he pinched at the bridge of his nose and tried to convince his eyes that they really did want to focus on the research that needed to be done.

 _"Cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise..."_

Unfortunately, his efforts remained impeded by the songs being blasted through their motel room, courtesy of the strip joint next door.

They'd been short on money lately, more so than usual. Their two most reliable credit cards had been maxed out on ammo, most of their cash-in-hand had become cash-in-tank due to the Impala guzzling gas like it was going out of style, and their attempts at making some easy money two towns over had been foiled when Dean looked like he was going to ram his pool cue where the sun didn't shine instead of playing a friendly game or two.

Dean's response had been that Sam should try looking fucking chipper after sharing a car for five days with someone who manages to pass gas even when asleep.

Feeling their brotherly love stretched to its limit, they'd taken a monetary risk and stopped at a motel for a night, if only to get some precious alone time. Turning his charm up to eleven, Dean had sweet-talked the night-manager of the Ultra-Lux Motel into giving them a massive discount provided they took the room which had the most noise disturbance from the neighboring strip club. This had been more of a bonus than a hardship as far as Dean was concerned and he'd bounded out before Sam even had chance to drop their bags, leaving him to do the research while Dean went to find some money.

Sam had spent all of a minute wondering how Dean planned to accomplish this. He'd then spent a further five minutes wondering if the term 'pick-pocketing' could be adapted to stealing strippers' tips - Pick-g-stringing? Pick-gartering? - before turning his attention back to researching what could be responsible for the mysterious deaths in the area.

The soundtrack was not helping in this endeavor. Sam was pretty certain that an Ogopogo did not want to be taken down to paradise city whether or not the grass was green and the girls were pretty. Likewise, a Chupacabra was not concerned about getting this lapdance here for free nor did it want to have sugar poured on it in the name of love. While a Hodag might have wanted to fuck people like an animal, Sam's version of hunting did not include lovin', touchin', or squeezin' of any variety. (The less said about Madison the better.)

Sighing, he slammed his computer shut, feeling the room pulse with the heavy bass from the club. Neither concentration nor sleep were going to be possible and seeing as how Dean had stuffed his earplugs up his nose last week during a fit of boredom, blocking out the majority of the sound wasn't an option either.

That left the large, glaring possibility of the strip club.

It didn't take him long to decide.

Two minutes later he found himself staring at the glittering, baby-blue doors to the club, convincing himself that he was just going in to retrieve Dean so that they could both research the pressing matter of satanically slaughtered hamsters. He had no ulterior motive involving half-naked women. Not at all.

However, it was only when he stepped inside that his ulterior motives were discarded altogether.

Apparently this strip club specialized in half-naked men instead.

Overwhelmed by the volume of the pounding music, the smell of smoke, sweat and liquor, and the 'fireman' enthusiastically disrobing on the plastic-looking stage, it took Sam a moment to remember what he was there for and then another moment to process the fact that his overtly heterosexual brother had spent at least ninety minutes watching men strip for money.

"Hi!"

Lost in his thoughts, Sam leapt back at the cheerful greeting, hand flying to the gun at the small of his back before freezing when he saw that the voice did not belong to a lapdancing demon but rather a bottle-blond twink in a bow-tie and briefs who inquired, "Can I get you a table?"

Repeating his soothing inner mantra of "Thou shalt not shoot the exotic dancers", Sam forced a smile and inched his hand away from the gun. "I'm good, thanks. I'm just going to, um-"

"Mingle?" the twink suggested helpfully.

Sam grimaced. "Yep. Exactly. Mingle."

"Sure thing!"

He beamed at him and skipped away.

Sam swallowed hard and wished he'd brought the holy water with him.

Doing his best to ignore the onstage fireman and his, um, hose, Sam started to wind his way through the club, hoping that Dean was in here somewhere and not out back with one of the many excited women who'd shown up to watch the night's performances. Skirting carefully around the tables and booths, he smiled politely at the dancers holding trays of drinks and hurried on before any more awkward conversations could happen. Apparently he resembled a stripper himself judging by the number of ass-grabs and cat-calls he experienced on his Dean-finding mission, but decided to take them as compliments rather than genuine career guidance.

His heart started to sink when he reached the last section of the club and still hadn't found Dean. Sam had reached his lifetime limit of walking in on Dean having sex by the time he was fourteen and really didn't want to have to go drag him away from his latest conquest. Sighing, he leaned over to check the last group of women, mentally preparing himself for needing to go stage a mid-coitus interruption.

He was not, however, prepared to actually find Dean in the last group of women. Or rather, _above_ the last group of women since Dean was now shirtless, standing on the table, and looking remarkably like an actual stripper.

 _"You're walking up with your eyes on me..."_

The words of Rainbow's _All Night Long_ started to sound through the club and Sam's mouth fell open as Dean rolled his hips in time.

 _"It's looking good but I just don't know..."_

Dean's fingers went to the top button of his jeans, accompanied by a loud cheer from the gathered women, and Sam revised his earlier opinion. Dean _was_ an actual stripper.

Dumbstruck, he couldn't do anything other than watch as Dean strutted around the wooden table top, singing along to the music as he did almost every day in the Impala except now his pants were open and there were bills being stuffed into the waistband of his boxers. That really didn't happen every day.

"Dean?!"

The exclamation was a little louder (and shriller) than Sam had intended and he cringed in anticipation when Dean whirled round in surprise to face him.

Sam waited for his brother to flush pink, for his eyes and mouth to go wide, and for him to leap off the table and give an apologetic excuse for what he was doing.

He got one out of four.

Jumping down (and ignoring the chorus of disappointment from behind him), Dean smiled broadly. "Hey, Sammy." He quickly shifted into hunter mode, lack of clothing be damned, as he asked, "You find out something about the mass hamstercide? We got something to hunt?"

In the shock of discovering his brother stripped in his spare time, Sam had forgotten all about the dead hamsters. "Uh, no, there's- I couldn't concentrate," he stammered before gripping Dean's upper arm and pulling him away into a quieter corner. "Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

Dean frowned. "Dude, I told you I was going to the strip club."

"You didn't tell me you were going to be the one stripping!" Sam hissed back.

Dean's nose wrinkled in distaste. "It's not like I'm gonna _watch_ a guy take his clothes off."

Sam floundered. Dean's logic was a unique thing. "How is taking your own clothes off any better?"

Dean looked at him like he was mentally challenged.

Sam shrugged, still utterly confused.

Grabbing his arm, Dean pulled him back out onto the main floor and gestured towards the women who waved and whooped. Winking back at them, Dean said with a smirk, "Seriously, Sammy, what's not to like?"

If Sam didn't think he'd be mobbed by enraged women, he would've smacked Dean's head against the wall. "You're stripping, Dean. _Stripping_."

Dean shrugged. "I like to think of it as foreplay." His grin widened as he glanced over at the women. "Group foreplay."

"You're so charitable," Sam shot back sarcastically.

"Damn right I am," he responded with conviction. "Hey, I said I'd come down here and get us some money. What did you think I was going to do? Rob strippers?"

"No..."

Dean cuffed him round the back of the head. "You're a dick sometimes, you know that? I'm earning an honest living here."

"Honest?"

" _Living_ ," Dean stressed, pulling the bills out of his pants and dumping them in Sam's hands.

Glancing down at them while Dean rummaged for more, Sam had to admit he had a point; the collection of ones, fives, tens, and even the occasional twenty was more money than they'd had in weeks. That didn't stop him from screwing up his nose in disgust when Dean plucked a bill out of his ass and added it to the pile. "Okay," he relented, "but still-"

"But still nothing, Sammy." The cocky grin was back on his face. "We get money, they get a show, and I get-"

"Your own mini harem?" Sam mocked.

Looking like a kid in a candy store, Dean didn't refute the suggestion. "So, you going to let me get back to my eager audience, geekboy?"

Sam stepped back. "They're all yours."

"Thanks, bro."

Clapping him on the shoulder, Dean leapt back up onto the table with the teasing question, "You miss me, ladies?"

More squeals and Sam rolled his eyes as Dean slid down to his knees, slipping back into the song and the rhythm easily.

 _"Wanna touch you, wanna feel you, wanna make you mine..."_

Seeing the stash of bills speedily replenished, Sam watched Dean work the audience, skin lit blue and purple by the club lights and body moving with the beat. Hands on his zipper, he closed his mouth around one of the shot glasses and tilted his head back, throat working as he swallowed the clear liquid and deposited the glass back down without using his hands once. The move earned him more bills as did the slow lick of his lips afterward and Sam had to admit that he was grudgingly impressed by his brother's ability to make money while drinking someone else's alcohol.

Just as he was starting to harbor good feelings towards Dean and his choice of money-making venture, the song ended and Sam was reminded why his brother was sometimes simply a douche when Dean took advantage of the relative quiet to gesture in his direction and announce to his harem, "Hey, girls, let's give a round of applause to the guy who's going to be helping me entertain you this evening: Sammy the Stallion!"


End file.
